


as the season turns (the deerly beloved remix)

by ailurea



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Cervidae Keith (Voltron), Cervidae People, First Meetings, Gunshot Wounds, M/M, Poachers, mild violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-01
Packaged: 2021-03-18 17:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29121987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ailurea/pseuds/ailurea
Summary: Keith has never been interested in anything outside the woods where he lives with his herd. It doesn't help that the only time he interacts with humans is when he's fighting off the poachers who trample into the woods, hoping for a quick kill. If that's how humans are, Keith really isn't interested in getting to know them any better.Then he meets Shiro.
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 89
Collections: Sheith Remix 2020





	as the season turns (the deerly beloved remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Oh Deer, Oh Deer!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20881505) by [Spatzi_Schatz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spatzi_Schatz/pseuds/Spatzi_Schatz). 



> This is a pinch hit remix for [Spatzi_Schatz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spatzi_Schatz). I was instantly excited to remix one of your fun creature/monster stories and decided to spin around "Oh Deer, Oh Deer!". Thank you for giving me the opportunity to play in your world!

Keith is lazing by the stream when he hears the horn blare from the direction of town.

He stands, ears pricking up and toward the sound, listening for the rhythm and melody carrying through the wood—and the message lying underneath.

This call sings of danger.

Of poachers.

Keith hoofs it toward his defensive station. The scent of humans grows stronger. His own antler-bone horn hangs from his neck, and he raises it to his lips, repeating the call to spread the alarm deeper into the woods. From every direction, he hears the rest of his herd doing the same.

Most of the time, these woods are safe. But the Marmora always prepare for the worst.

Keith’s just made it to his post when a shot goes by his antlers, embedding into a nearby tree. He skids to a halt, clumps of fresh dirt kicking up under his hooves as he whirls around. Just a few strides away is the poacher, mustached and burly and clad in the same colors as the woods, shotgun propped up on his shoulder—and pointed right at Keith.

Keith dives for the treeline, sliding his knife from the sheath slung around his waist. The luxite warms in his hand as the metal lengthens and broadens into a sword.

These poachers aren’t messing around, and neither is he.

There's a flurry of movement to his left, and he whips around in time to see a different poacher wearing the color of the sky lunging at him.

He snorts, pounding his hooves into the ground and bounding away just as another shot goes off and a metallic scent fills the air. He hopes he’s just unlucky, to have run into two hunters here alone—because if he’s not, that can only mean the wood is being overrun.

Fear crawls up his throat, but he swallows it down quickly. He needs to survive this, first; then he can worry about the others.

He circles around the cluster of trees, trying to keep himself as quiet as he can, though he knows he can’t exactly hide. He might be small for his herd, but he’s still larger than even the largest human. If they spot him, he’ll be an easy target. He needs to figure out how to get the drop on them.

But when he comes upon the green-clad poacher with the shotgun again, he doesn’t even seem to notice Keith at all, shoulders tensed as he’s distracted by something in the other direction.

Keith isn’t one to question a gift from the Goddess.

He brings his sword down.

It’s a clean cut to the poacher’s arm that makes him drop the shotgun. Keith doesn’t give the poacher time to react. He kicks out with his forelegs, sending the poacher flying against a tree with a yell. Then he rears up on his hind legs and smashes his forelegs down on the gun hard enough to crack the barrel.

The poacher looks at it, then at Keith. He’s shaking as he looks off to the side. Keith doesn’t follow his gaze.

“Fuck this,” the poacher says, scrambling to his feet. He sprints away, clutching at his wounded arm.

Keith snorts and kicks the gun aside. What a coward, running with his tail between his legs at the first sign of resistance.

There’s a crackle to the side, where the poacher was looking, and Keith just barely catches a glimpse of blue before he leaps behind the brush, back on high alert. He’d forgotten for a moment that there were two of them, but he’s feeling a lot better about his odds now. From what he can remember, the second poacher wasn’t even holding a weapon.

With any luck, he’ll just run away, too.

In the distance, Keith hears the horns again, this time bellowing in victory. It’s followed quickly by a request for assistance. Soon the air will be filled with that call-and-response as the herd chases off the poachers.

Keith stays still, listening closely to the woods around him for any sign of movement from the remaining poacher. He could sound the alarm, but if he can handle this on his own, he’d rather not draw the herd here if he doesn’t have to.

After another horn for assistance goes off and Keith still doesn’t hear a thing, he peeks out from around the brush, sword at the ready.

The poacher that had tried to tackle him is slumped against a tree, clutching at his leg. Red blooms bright on his blue pants, seeping between his metal fingers, and his expression is twisted in pain.

Cautiously, Keith steps forward. The metallic scent—which he realizes now is blood—grows stronger, but he doesn’t put it past poachers to play wounded to lay a trap.

But then Keith is right in front of him, and the poacher still doesn’t do anything except look up at him. The pale cast of his face, the stink of his sweat, and the pained twist of his lips all seem too real.

The poacher wets his lips, and Keith’s grip tightens on his sword.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the poacher says, his voice soothing and low. It makes Keith ease, and then immediately tense again once he realizes what’s happened.

“You can’t anyway,” Keith says, stomping his hooves, half to threaten and half out of irritation that he can be so affected by a kind voice.

“You’re probably right about that,” the poacher says easily. “I’m glad you’re okay. Where’d the ass with the shotgun go?”

“Ran away once I broke his toy.” Keith points his sword at the poacher, uneasy about the way he’s trying to get onto Keith’s good side. “I’m not going to take pity on you just because your friend shot you.”

“My—we’re not friends,” the poacher says, straining to sit up. Keith takes a step back. “I’m a ranger. I was trying to stop them.”

“You tried to attack me,” Keith says.

“I was trying to get you out of the way.” The poacher nods toward his injured leg. “Sorry, I couldn’t think of anything else to do at the time. I didn’t think you would listen to me if I’d tried yelling.”

Keith definitely would not have.

He shifts uneasily on his legs. The man must be lying to some extent, because there are no rangers on these lands, but the rest of the story isn’t… completely unbelievable. He definitely isn’t acting like any other poacher Keith’s met before. He isn’t trying to attack Keith, he’s wearing that bright sky color, and he doesn’t seem to have any weapons on him, though Keith knows enough to know that just because nothing’s visible doesn’t mean nothing’s there.

But above all that, there’s something impossibly kind about him.

Keith isn’t used to thinking of many as kind.

He readjusts his grip on his sword and steps forward, hoof by hoof. “I will kill you if you try anything.”

“Trust me, there isn’t much I could try right now,” the man says. Despite the easy tone of his voice, he’s watching Keith carefully, eyes flicking between his face and the sword in his hand.

Keith looks at it too, and then deliberately lets it shift back into a knife and sheaths it as the man stares wide-eyed. Then, slowly, he folds his legs beneath him, settling beside the man. Even sitting, he’s still at least a head taller, but from here he can at least reach.

He gently pushes the man’s hand out of the way to look at the injury. The bullet is embedded deep into his thigh, and Keith’s not a medic, but for that reason he knows it’s better not to try messing with it until someone who actually knows what they’re doing can come.

For now, he’ll do what he can. He pulls the small medicinal pouch from his waist, aware of the man’s eyes tracking his every movement.

The man isn’t saying anything, but Keith can hear the rabbit-quick beat of his heart and the way he’s holding himself, stiff and still. Keith needs to get him to relax, somehow, but he hasn’t interacted much with humans. None of their herd has, except Kolivan, who meets with the friendly ones every so often. He doesn’t say much about them, except that they have an annoying habit of inane chatter when they’re nervous.

“There are no rangers here,” Keith says, taking care to telegraph every movement as he pulls out a poultice. “Who are you?”

“Takashi Shirogane,” the man says, seemingly barely paying attention to his words as he watches Keith spread the poultice on his wound. “Everyone calls me Shiro, though. I live with my family in a cabin on the edge of the woods. We’ve been protecting the lands for centuries.”

That was a lot of words for a simple question. Maybe Kolivan is on to something.

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why protect the woods?” Keith says, looking over his handiwork. “They’re not yours.”

“You don’t need to own something to care for it,” Shiro says, which sounds contrary to what Keith knows of humans. “But, to answer your question, a long time ago, your ancestors saved the entire village, and my ancestors with it. We’ve pledged ourselves to be protectors of your woods ever since.”

“How come I’ve never heard of you, then?”

“We try not to come into the woods unless we have to,” Shiro says, “though I think my parents have met your herd leader. Um, sorry, what are you doing with that?”

Keith pulls his knife back. “For your leg,” he says, gesturing to Shiro’s shirt.

“O-Okay,” Shiro says.

Keith pulls the shirt taut and cuts off a strip, tying it off over the wound to help keep pressure on. He replaces Shiro’s hand over it for good measure. His skin is cool and clammy. He needs help. Soon.

“Thank you for the help,” Shiro says. His posture is looser now, his face pale but relaxed, and he sounds more tired—letting down his guard, maybe, now that Keith’s proven he doesn’t mean harm, either.

Keith has to resist the urge to reach out and wipe the sweat from his forehead.

Shiro plants his hands on the ground and tries to push himself up, and then falls back over—expectedly, because he still has a fucking bullet in his leg.

Keith frowns at him. “What are you doing?”

“Um.” Shiro looks as perplexed as Keith feels. “Trying to… get up? It’s not too far to the cabin. My family will be able to help from there.”

Keith grabs his shoulder. “You’re not going to be able to walk, even if you can stand. You’ll aggravate it.”

“I’ve been through worse,” Shiro says, though that doesn’t seem to offset the way he’s trying and failing to stand, stubborn human.

Keith pushes him down and holds him there. “Don’t make me step on you. Because I will.”

Shiro stares at him, wide-eyed, and with a light flush spreading across his face.

The reaction is strange, but so is the way that Keith finds it almost… cute. Another word he’s not used to describing anyone with, but even though they’ve just met, there’s something about Shiro that’s drawing him in.

Keith tears his eyes away and fumbles with his horn. “I’ll call my herd. We have a medic, he can help stabilize you. And then I can take you back to your cabin.”

“You don’t want me to walk, though?”

Keith snorts impatiently. “I’ll carry you. But only after Ulaz checks you over.”

“Are you sure?” Shiro says, frowning at him.

Keith’s fur ruffles. “Just because I look small doesn’t mean I’m weak.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Shiro says, raising his hands defensively. “Just, it’s a lot that I’m asking of you and your herd, and I know you don’t want to spend more time with humans than you have to. And for good reason!”

“It’s not that I hate all humans or something,” Keith says. “I just haven’t met one I… liked…” he trails off, realizing he’s said too much. “Look, do you want help or not?”

“Yes, please,” Shiro says softly, and Keith pulls out his horn and sends out the call for a medic. With any luck, it’ll just be Ulaz who comes, but Keith doubts that will be the case.

“So,” Shiro says into the silence that follows. “Um. I never got your name. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, of course. I could always just call you _my hero_.”

Keith flushes. “Uh, no, that’s okay. I’m Keith, of the Marmora.”

“It’s good to meet you, Keith,” Shiro says, his smile warm and sweet and everything.

Keith’s heartbeat suddenly feels like a new sensation in his chest.

“It’s good to meet you, too,” he says, and in the air he feels the turning of a new season.

**Author's Note:**

>   * Deer have limited color vision, but blue is one of the colors they can pick out easily—so if you want to definitely be seen by deer, be like Shiro and wear blue!
> 

> 
> * * *
> 
> Thank you so much to Faia and Cai for the beta, and to everyone who supported me with sprints and encouragement as I wrote!
> 
> And thank you so much for reading! ♥  
> I love, appreciate, and cry over each and every comment, even if it takes me a little while to respond. :)  
> Outside of AO3, you can catch me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/ailurea) or drop a message [in my askbox](https://curiouscat.qa/ailurea)! ♥


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